


Hung Where You Can't See

by asmodesgold



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:06:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9056584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asmodesgold/pseuds/asmodesgold
Summary: Rafael Barba avoids mistletoes, for good reason.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [booyahfordhamlaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/booyahfordhamlaw/gifts).



> Secret Santa 2016 gift for booyahfordhamlaw!
> 
> Huge shout out to booyahkendell for all of her help not only as a beta but also as a sounding board!

“Look up, counselor.”

 

Barba followed the direction of a laughing Rollins’ finger from where she sat at her desk to the small plant hidden among the garland hanging over his head. 

 

Mistletoe. How hadn’t he seen it?

 

He pulled his hand back as if bitten from the box of homemade cannolis Sonny had eagerly brought him as soon as he stepped into the bullpen.

 

“Ok, not happening,” he snapped, storming to the conference table. He ignored the stares he was getting from the detectives and the way Sonny slowly slunk after him. Instead, he went about setting up his files and going through the evidence already laid out for him. By the time he looked back up, everyone had joined him at the table including Sonny who, while normally as close to Barba as possible even if it meant standing, sat at the far end of the table and wasn’t making eye contact with anyone, box of sweets out of sight. There was a hard edge of bitterness clouding the edges of Barba’s mind that kept him from thinking about that too hard.

 

The meeting progressed smoothly with no one bringing up Barba’s earlier fit of temper until a lull in conversation.

 

“What was that?” Rollins demanded.

 

“What was what?” Barba wasn’t stupid, he knew what she was referring to, but he hoped that by deflecting, something or someone would change the topic before it properly started.

 

“Earlier, with the mistletoe.”

 

No such luck. Before he could answer Rollins barrelled on.

 

“That was a shitty way to treat Carisi back there and I think you owe him an explanation or at least an apology.”

 

“I’m fine,” Sonny weakly protested.

 

A quick glance at the detective told Barba that he was lying: his normally tall frame was folded over itself in the chair, and he had yet to make any actual eye contact with anyone else at the table. Barba looked at the others, all staring expectantly at him, and realized he might’ve made a mistake.

 

“I’ve never been kissed under the mistletoe,” he began. “I was beaten to a pulp under one once.”

 

“What?” Sonny’s eyes were on him with rapt attention, all traces of kicked-puppy replaced with an expression of righteous indignation. At his lack of mistletoe inspired kisses or the beating, Barba wasn’t sure. Knowing Sonny, probably both, he mused.

 

“Spent my twelfth Christmas in the hospital.”

 

“Care to elaborate on that, counselor?” Fin asked.

 

Barba took a deep breath, steeling himself; he’d never told anyone this - never had to, really.

 

“I suppose people have always somehow known that I’m bisexual,” he began. “And as such they’ve taken great joy in playing...pranks on me with those.” 

 

He pointed over at the mistletoe hanging in the doorway. 

 

“There’ve been some men who’ve jokingly tried to kiss me for the enjoyment of friends, schoolmates who placed bets on who I’d let kiss me, colleagues who would strategically plan for me to go under at the same time as someone...undesirable. One year someone paid this severely mentally ill homeless man to try it, but luckily there was a security officer nearby who intervened before he could get too handsy. Once in middle school, completely by accident actually, one of the football players ran into me under one, and, well, he was the one who put me in the hospital. My second year in Harvard the poor moron they tricked into it tried suing me for emotional distress…” he trailed off.

 

The squad was silent. Barba cut his eyes back to the arrest report he’d had in front of him and fidgeted with a pen.

 

“That sucks,” Fin said finally. Barba nodded. He knew from previous conversations that Fin’s son, Ken, was gay, so the man probably had experience with this sort of thing as a parent. Barba isn’t sure how his mom had taken all of that, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

 

“You have to know that we’d never treat you like that.” Liv smiled at him in that calming way of hers that Barba loved and put her hand on his, giving it a small squeeze.

 

“Yes, I realize this now, but, at the time,” he shrugged. “My apologies.”

 

Fin waved him off, Liv gave his hand a final squeeze, and Rollins nodded her acceptance.

 

Sonny, on the other hand, still looked righteously indignant and opened his mouth but Barba cut him off.

 

“Do you think I could still sample one of your cannolis?”

 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Sonny said, hurriedly climbing out of his chair and making his way over to his desk. He unearthed the box from a drawer and before he stood back up, his eyes lit up and he pulled up a large thermos from under the desk. He bounded back to the squad with both in tow. “I forgot I brought this! It’s a cinnamon ginger coffee my mom always makes with these. You guys have to try some of this, too.”

 

And just like that, they moved on and things were back to normal; Sonny even returned to his customary seat next to Barba as he began pouring everyone a drink. By the time he was leaving the hard edges of bitterness and general unease had been replaced by thoughts of relevant case law and a warm, full stomach.

 

“Counselor!”

 

Barba turned as he stepped into the elevator to see Sonny jogging to meet him.

 

“For the record,” Sonny said, bouncing nervously from foot to foot. “I wouldn’t have sued you.”

 

The connection was made almost instantly in Barba’s mind, and he considered the detective for a second.

 

“For the record,” he said evenly. “I wouldn’t have beaten you to a pulp.”

 

The elevator doors closed on Sonny’s wide grin.

 

* * *

 

Sonny Carisi was, by his very person, constantly reminding Barba that there were good people in the world; ever since the mistletoe incident he had been avidly making sure to not put the ADA on the spot again, and though he probably thought he was being smooth about it, Barba knew what he was doing and appreciated it. The rest of the squad didn’t bring it up again, something he was also grateful for.

 

The weeks leading up to Christmas flew by in flurries of paperwork and cases, and soon they were all at the huge annual law enforcement Christmas party. Barba knew the squad was around somewhere but had yet to bump into them while making his rounds. He was idly walking the edges of the room with some Brooklyn ADAs, sharing frankly inane small talk with them when they came to a stop under false arbors that were dimly lit with lights peppered in garish tinsel and garland.

 

“Ah, Bobby!” One of the other ADAs - Barba could never remember his name - was waving over one of the secretaries that worked down the hall from Barba. As the man approached their group the rest of them stepped back from Barba. Too late, he recognized what was about to happen.

 

“Look!” They laughed and pointed above him. Barba didn’t need to look up to see what it was. Bobby, however, did, and before he spun on his heel to storm off he gave Barba a disgusted look.

 

“Don’t worry,” Janette giggled, taking a sip from her champagne. “Someone will want to kiss you one of these days.”

 

Barba grew hot under his collar and was weighing the pros and cons of either staying to cut them with carefully crafted insults or leave for better company when someone caught David’s eye.

 

“Hey, it’s one of  _ your _ detectives,” he said gleefully, waving at someone behind Barba.

 

Deciding that flight was better than fighting more humiliation, he made to leave but was blocked by a very solid Sonny Carisi. Who looked damn good in his tux, Barba’s mind unhelpfully supplied.

 

Sonny’s eyes followed their pointing fingers to the innocent mistletoe tucked above them, a look of recognition sweeping over him. Barba tore his attention off the detective and made to duck past him with a muttered “excuse me” when a hand reached out to grab his shoulder. He looked up at Sonny, noting the serene smile and kind eyes.

 

“Would you beat me to a pulp?” Sonny asked him quietly.

 

The room shrank to the two of them: the dim lighting, and the mistletoe, the hubbub of the party slipping away into a low hum.

 

“Well, I wouldn’t sue you,” he said, his customary half-smile, half-smirk creeping onto his face.

 

Sonny gave him a beautiful smile and leaned in. 

 

Barba swore the notes on the piano slowed down as he got closer and then swept into a crescendo as their lips finally met. It was no chaste affair, but nothing from adult media either; it was something sweet and thrilling in the middle with just the lightest touch of tongues and somewhat forceful pressing of mouths. All too soon they parted, and the festivities around them came to life again.

 

His colleagues were staring at them dumbstruck and Barba wished he could offer something biting and witty to throw at them, but he couldn’t get around the silly grin on his face. Sonny reached over him and plucked the mistletoe from its perch.

 

“Official police business,” he said in his authoritative-cop voice to the ADAs.

 

“Is that what I am now?” Barba smoothed one of Sonny’s lapels down. They were still standing entirely too close to one another, and he had no intention of stepping back.

 

“Yes,” Sonny said. “And I’m going to need you to come with me for further investigation.” He looped his arm through Barba’s and led them away, stopping every few feet to dangle the mistletoe over them and steal a kiss.

 

“Merry Christmas!” Barba called over his shoulder, before  _ his _ detective pulled him out of sight.


End file.
